


A Respite: Or Waiting on Heaven/Hell to Make a Damn Move Already

by Arisprite



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: A Kiss (or two), After the Apocalypse That Wasn't, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Comfort, Exhaustion, I just had to try my hand at this part, In between scene, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, The Bus Ride, Touching, and at Crowley's flat, written at work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: An angel and a demon got on a bus to Oxford (London). It sounds like the start of a joke, but our two heroes were in fact at the end of their ropes. Exhausted, weary, and afraid that each breath they took was only a short reprieve before their head offices came for them, they sat on the long ride, and through the even longer night, and tried to take comfort in each other. And maybe, just maybe, try to come up with a plan.





	A Respite: Or Waiting on Heaven/Hell to Make a Damn Move Already

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are lots of versions of this scene coming out every day, but I just had to give it a shot. I wrote this in a rush today at work, and after, and I hope I got the voices right. I read the book ages ago, but the show certainly holds up on rewatches. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm American, so if there are British anachronisms, that is why, though I do my best.

After everything, swaying in the movement of the bus’ drive towards London, whatever passed for adrenalin for a demonic body had certainly run its course. Crowley felt his body grow heavy, and cold. He was exhausted, body and soul (or whatever) and it was not easy to stay upright. 

Beside him, Aziraphale was quiet, looking tired as well, if not quite so physically drained. Crowley wondered if he could just lean over and rest on the angel’s shoulder; what would happen? His jacket and the softness of his upper arm looked really comfortable… 

He shook himself, and rubbed hands into his eyes, dislodging his glasses. 

“Ohh, I could sleep for a century…” he groaned, a yawn breaking through the end of his words. Aziraphale straightened up, from what was a limp slump for him, but for others was just barely not perfect posture. 

“Ah, yes, I’m actually in agreement with you, my dear. I find myself quite-” he broke off, to yawn as well, and Crowley grinned in sleepy delight. 

“You _are_ tired, angel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you yawn.” 

Aziraphale tutted. “Oh surely at _some_ point? Well, either way, I don’t think I’ve ever been this weary.” 

Crowley stretched upwards, arching his back and trying to restore some vitality to his limbs. 

“Well, it _was_ the end of the world, sort of.” 

“Thankfully, not completely,” Aziraphale said. “Though, I suppose it’s not over, is it?” 

Crowley recalled Beezelbub’s anger, and Gabriel’s festering annoyance. “Nah, they’ll definitely come after us. We stopped them from having a go at each other… we’ll be the scapegoats for sure.” 

Aziraphale hummed, worry coming over his face. “Do you think it’s even safe to go back to London? Perhaps we should go to Alpha Centauri…” 

Crowley glanced upwards, out of the dirty glass of the bus windows and up at the stars he loved. He’d wanted to go, as an alternative to Earth ending… but tonight he wanted his own bed, with his memory foam mattress, and silk sheets, and heavy comforters. 

“I don’t think I have another miracle in me,” Crowley admitted, looking at his hands. He doubted he could do much more until he rested. It had taken more effort than it should have to direct the bus driver to his flat. “If the forces of Heaven and Hell decide to attack tonight, they won’t get much fight from me…” 

Aziraphale let out a breath, and then reached over to pat Crowley’s hands, fidgeting in his lap. 

“Of course, dear boy. You’ve done a lot today. I’m sure they need time to regroup as much as we do.” 

“Well, let’s hope so. Cause I have no ideas for a plan right now…” Crowley stretched again, trying to wake up his arms, and just setting off another yawn. Then he slumped forward and rubbed his face again. “Ooharh…” he grumbled. 

He stiffened and then relaxed when he felt a warm, angelic hand come to rest on his shoulder, tugging him lightly sideways. 

“Come, my dear. Just rest for now,” Aziraphale said, letting Crowley lean on his shoulder, his arm around him. 

“Mbb y’sure?” Crowley mumbled, already relaxing. He felt Aziraphale nod. 

“Quite sure.” Crowley mentally shrugged. It wasn’t like they’d never slumped against each other, after a night of drinking, or in the wee hours of the morning. Still, Aziraphale had always been very British in his displays of affection, (even before Britain had existed) not to mention the fear that Heaven or Hell might have been watching them in public, but they didn’t really have to worry about that now. And Aziraphale was warm, and soft, and he tried to doze as the bus bumped along as buses were wont to do. 

The lights passing by, flashing gold in the darkness, lulled Crowley into a haze, where he pushed everything away except for the warmth of the angel he was leaning against, the scent of him on his jacket. He’d thought he’d lost him, he recalled with a distant pang, too tired for more of an emotion. He’d been so sure that the fires in the bookshop were hellflame, so sure that either Hell or Heaven had caught up to them at last. He’d been positive that he’d have to go the rest of the days on earth alone - course that hadn’t been that many days at the time. 

Crowley breathed deep, and huddled closer to Aziraphale. It hadn’t happened. Not yet anyway. Aziraphale was safe… if not for long. 

With a gusty sigh, Crowley sat up, blowing air out into a raspberry. 

“‘S no use,” he complained. “Dammit, why can’t they just leave us alone?” 

Aziraphale had kept his arm around Crowley has he sat up, and used it now to pat his shoulder. 

“I find I can’t think of much else either. Did you get some rest, at least?” he asked, and Crowley rubbed his face again, letting his sunglasses hang from one finger. 

“Ughh, think so… a bit. ‘Fore the noggin started up.” 

“You were quiet for about forty five minutes,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley eyed him. 

“Was I? Hm, must have dozed some. Doesn’t feel like it,” he said, hiding a yawn again.

“We’ll be back in London soon, we can rest and come up with a plan.” 

Crowley noticed that Aziraphale didn’t say ‘home’. Just London. They were heading towards Crowley’s flat, thanks to a confused bus driver, but Aziraphale’s home for over a hundred years had been burned. For all that Crowley had grieved after the fire (needlessly, thankfully), the angel had lost his collections, his signed copies, his carefully curated first editions. He’d lost his cozy blankets, and tea stock, and the various bits and bobs that had made the bookshop so comfortable. 

He looked tired, which was odd for an angel who didn’t show the effects of his many thousand years. Aziraphale was normally effervescent, cheery to a fault (except when he was petulant or pouty). Right now, his eyes were drooping, head bowed low even as Crowley looked him over. 

“You okay?” Crowley couldn’t help but ask, and Aziraphale sighed deep, and smiled at him, pinched and small. 

“I’ll be alright, dear.”

“Maybe… maybe the kid put the bookshop back to rights?” Crowley said, softly. Aziraphale brightened just a bit. 

“He could have, Adam. Maybe he did.” 

“I’m sure he did,” Crowley said, infusing more confidence into his voice. “Want to have the bus swing there instead?” He was already raising his hand, to call to the bus driver, but Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s wrist, lowering it down to his lap. 

“Oh, no dear, that’s quite alright. I’ll go to your flat tonight, and we’ll check on it in the morning.” 

He kept hold of his arm, and Crowley lifted an eyebrow a little, before settling in with his one available hand propping his chin, elbow against the window ledge. They were nearly there, the streets not empty, even as late as it was, but certainly clearer than normal. The events of the afternoon seemed to have shaken their part of London, and probably more besides, and the people that were out were huddled together in groups, out drinking to forget. 

Aziraphale didn’t let go of his arm until the bus stopped in front of Crowley’s flat. Crowley figured he needed the reassurance that they’d gotten out of this as much as Crowley did, and so didn’t begrudge him the tight grip on his jacket. As if he even would. They rose, and stepped off the bus, as the driver blinked at them in confusion. 

“Thank you, dear chap,” Aziraphale said warmly, pressing a substantial amount of notes into the man’s hands. “A tip for the courtesy.” 

The man stared and stammered, but Crowley was already dragging Aziraphale off the bus with a grip of his own around the angel’s wrist. That Aziraphale not so subtly adjusted his hand to entwine their fingers didn’t bother him in the slightest. 

“C’mon, angel,” Crowley said, squeezing once. “Let’s get up there.” 

Aziraphale smiled, though he was still tired around the eyes. “Yes, let’s.” 

They walked near silently through the lobby and hallways of Crowley’s apartment building, riding the elevator up to the penthouse flat Crowley owned. Crowley’s weariness was returning, and was stretching into that shakey haze of too many sleepless nights - not that he’d truly experienced that, not being human and all. His fingers fumbled the keys, not trembling exactly, but not his usual grace. He could have miracled the door open, but even that little brush seemed beyond him, and he had to let go of Aziraphale’s hand to use both of his to get the correct key into the lock, and then to turn it properly. Finally, the door opened. 

“Arrhghhh…” Crowley moaned, as he stumbled inside, dropping the keys on the nearest surface. “What a day.” 

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said, closing and latching the door behind them. Crowley felt Aziraphale push a burst of power into the minor wards that surrounded his flat, strengthening them. Crowley relaxed knowing that at least they’d have a warning if something tried to get in with bad intentions, even though neither angels nor demons would be entirely repelled by them. 

“Thanks,” Crowley said, as he stumbled over to the stark, open concept kitchen and leaned on the counter. The cupboards were pretty empty, save for a stock of liquor, and some random snacks. Damn, he didn’t even have tea. He’d never had the angel over, never expected any house guests, and he didn’t even like being here most of the time, except to sleep if he felt like it. “Sorry, angel, d’you want… water? Crisps? I have alcohol...” 

Aziraphale came over and put a hand on his elbow (he thought they’d touched more tonight than they had in the past five centuries put together) and led him over to the stools. 

“That’s quite alright, dear. Why don’t you go lie down, and I’ll bring you some water.” 

“But ‘m the host…” he mumbled, not even sure where this politeness was coming from. Gah, it was giving him a bad taste in his mouth. Aziraphale didn’t acknowledge his out of character protests, pushing him further into the flat, thought Crowley did have to lead the way to the bedroom. 

Ah, there she was, Crowley’s big glorious bed - the best money could buy. He’d been through hell (well, not literally this time) and was covered in soot, and ash and more still, so he didn’t dare do what his whole body wanted and face plant directly onto the covers. Grumbling, uncaring that Aziraphale was still in the room, Crowley stripped out of his tight jeans with an undignified wriggle, and then off came the jacket and the shirt. He considered putting on his silk pyjamas, but decided it was too much effort. Then in only his pants, he gave into gravity. The pillows nearly swallowed him, as he blocked out all the light and let tense muscles loosen. He was only barely aware of Aziraphale actually _tucking him in_. 

“Zir’ph’le,” Crowley said into the pillow.

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale said, still sounding so composed. Crowley made grabby hands backwards at him, shuffling over until his face was free of pillows and blankets. He didn’t want him to leave, to go and wander his flat and think thinky thoughts without him to keep an eye on him. He’d been discorporated today, after all, and he’d lost his bookshop, and … well, his faith, his side, his whole _thing_. He needed Aziraphale to not go down any rabbit holes while he couldn’t keep his eyes open. 

“Sstay,” Crowley said, a lisping hiss that he couldn’t help. 

“Oh, erm…” Aziraphale didn’t say no right away. “ But I don’t have any nightclothes, and you look so comfortable in the middle-” 

“Don’t care, c’mon…” Crowley mumbled, shoving himself over to the side with what seemed like the last of his strength. There was a long pause, and then he heard Aziraphale sigh. 

“Oh, alright,” he said, only fretting a little bit, from the sound of it. “I probably won’t be able to sleep, you know.” 

“Leassst you won’t go ‘nywhere…” Crowley said. 

“I won’t go anywhere, anyway, my dear,” Aziraphale said, quieter, but he heard clothes rustling, and then the bed dipped. Crowley peeked an eye open to see Aziraphale laying down in the dimmed room, wearing only his white shirt, and a pair of pink and blue striped old fashioned boxers. His lip twitched. 

“Like the sstripess…” he slurred, before Aziraphale pulled the blankets up to his chin. 

“Crowley!” he said, sounding delightfully scandalized. Crowley huffed out a breath, and then moved closer to the warmth of the angel, throwing an arm across Aziraphale’s middle. 

“Shh, angel, ‘m tryin’ to ssleep…” 

Crowley felt a sigh, and then Aziraphale wriggled a bit, getting comfortable. Crowley found himself clenching his fist in Aziraphale’s shirt, just a little, before all his body sank into the bed like a cement brick into quicksand, and his mind followed quickly after. 

 

***

 

Well. That had been quite the day. Week, really. Aziraphale never wanted to go through all of that again for as long as he lived (which may very well be not that long, considering). Discorporation alone is so tedious, and this new body, while the same as the old one… itched? Oh, it just wasn’t quite right yet, like a shoe that needed to be broken in. It’d fit, just given time, and some blisters in the meanwhile. 

Not that he was uncomfortable in this present moment. No, Crowley had a marvelous bed, as far as creature comforts go, and while Crowley had been worryingly cool to the touch the whole evening, he was finally warming up as he slept pressed to his side. Aziraphale rubbed up and down his arm a bit, making sure the blankets were tucked close over the top of them both. 

And while, he felt like it _should_ be uncomfortable to share a bed, and such physical closeness with Crowley, his long time friend né hereditary enemy, he couldn’t say he minded all that much. Knowing now that Heaven wouldn’t take him back, regardless of his actions here with Crowley did take somewhat of a load off. He hadn’t held back from reaching out to Crowley tonight, holding his cold hand, and taking his elbow when it looked like he might waver. The poor boy was exhausted, he was sure, ever so much more than he’d shown. 

Aziraphale frowned a bit, recalling the hazy moment when he’d appeared on earth to Crowley in that bar. He hadn’t been quite completely there yet, not to mention distracted, but now he was thinking back to the devastation in Crowley’s face, the way his voice had cracked as he told him his best friend had died. Of course he meant Aziraphale, he chided himself. Who else would it have been? No more than a passing comment from Aziraphale, though, and then they were all caught up in the end times. He did hope that Crowley wasn’t too jarred from all that. It did probably contribute to his exhaustion. 

Aziraphale sighed, and shifted a little closer to Crowley. It wasn’t fair. Crowley deserved to rest, just as much as the people he’d worked so hard to save. Aziraphale felt protectiveness, and righteous indignation at Heaven and Hell for continuing to hang over them like this. As Crowley had said on the bus, couldn’t they just let them alone? All the both of them had ever wanted was the quiet life they’d built up here: Crowley with his car, and music, and various mischievous pursuits, and he with his bookshop- 

Ah, right… the bookshop. 

Aziraphale let out a rather large sigh, and Crowley responded, breathing deeper, nuzzling his face down into the space between Aziraphale’s side, and the mattress, digging towards the warmth. 

Well, that was something he’d have to deal with, the bookshop’s Shrodinger existence. Perhaps Adam had restored it. Perhaps, since it had happened earlier, he hadn’t. After all, how could he expect an eleven year old boy from Tadfeild to know about his poor burned books, and even if he did, how would he curate the collection that Aziraphale had built over the years? No, no, it was best not to get his hopes up. 

The hand that wasn’t around Crowley’s back raised up and rubbed his eyes in an uncharacteristic show of exhaustion. He really was tired. Perhaps he’d just close his eyes and hope for the best, though he hadn’t napped in decades. Always too much to do, and read, and learn. 

Nothing to do now, though, except reassure Crowley through his presence and keep him warm. And perhaps, sleep. There was no plan to be made, nothing that could be done about Above and Below coming after them. Just waiting. And perhaps, taking comfort in each other. 

Aziraphale moved, rolling a little towards Crowley, curling his arms around the dear boy. Encompassing him in every inch of his love. And waiting for the morn. 

 

Aziraphale woke hours later, quite warm, and rather disoriented. He blinked, and saw red hair, tufted in a wild manner, directly in front of his nose. Ah, right. Crowley was curled to his chest, seeking the heat like he truly was cold blooded (as opposed to the strange mechanics of the body of an occult being, both physical and not). He was snoring a little, loose in his arms, and breathing deep. Aziraphale smiled, grateful they’d been given at least one night, one morning. He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s hair, and settled back down, but his slight shiftings had disturbed the demon’s slumber. 

One gleaming yellow eye was open, and looking up at him. 

“Didyu jus’ kiss me, angel?” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale hummed. 

“I suppose I did. Do you mind terribly?”

Crowley breathed deep, almost a yawn, and stretched a little, before settling back against Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Nah,” he said, far too casually. Aziraphale tilted his head again, and pressed a long kiss to Crowley’s forehead. It felt good to do it, like he was finally being honest with Crowley and himself. 

“”S about time, s’all I’m saying,” Crowley said, eyelids still heavy enough that Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure he was even that aware of what he was saying. “”ve loved you long enough…” 

Aziraphale went pink, a smile breaking out. “Oh, well! Dear, you-” He noticed Crowley cracking a half pillow-smushed grin. “Oh, you naughty thing!” Aziraphale said, bringing a hand from Crowley’s back to brush his cheek. 

“I love you too, my dear. Of course you know.” 

“Mhm,” Crowley said. “Not quite how I imagined the conversation…” he said, his fingers moving up to take Aziraphale’s hand. He held it gently, and pressed a light kiss to his palm. 

Aziraphale smiled. Of course it was love, he’d known and ignored the sensations, the feelings for centuries. He’d seen it in Crowley’s eyes, seen his heartbreak mirrored when he refused to run away with him, twice. But Heaven had had a hold on him, and he hadn't dared act. 

He was free now, but only for a time.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley asked. He was blinking awake, coming up on his elbow to peer at Aziraphale’s face. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, feeling his previous peace dissipate into desperate unhappiness. “It’s just as you said last night. Whatever are we going to do about our respective head offices?” 

Crowley sighed heavily, flopping over on his back, pinning Aziraphale’s arm in the process. 

“Fight them?” Crowley suggested, and Aziraphale tutted. 

“We’d never survive. The two of us, against the combined forces of Heaven and Hell? My God.” Aziraphale chuckled bitterly.

“We have Adam.” Crowley looked up at him, flat on his back, shirtless and vulnerable. He was lovely, and perfect, and damn Gabriel and the rest for taking this away from him, just when he got to have it. 

“He’s human now, and even if he wasn’t, he’s an eleven year old boy. He deserves a life without Heaven and Hell meddling anymore than they already have.”

Crowley sat up so quickly he almost hit Aziraphale’s face with his face, jerking to his feet to walk across the room to the dresser. 

“So do we, angel,” he said, as he picked up a new pair of jeans that were identical to yesterdays, save for the lack of soot. “So do we.” 

He sounded heartbroken and resigned, like he had at the bandstand, and Aziraphale couldn’t stand it. He tossed the quits off himself, and stood, padding over to Crowley in his socks, and wrapping his arms around his waist, pressing his face into Crowley’s shoulder blades, where his wings would be if he manifested them. 

“You’re right. Darling, you deserve so much more. I’m sorry.” 

“Woah, sorry for what?” Crowley said, twisting around to see his face. “Angel, none of this is your fault.” 

“But if I’d --, we could have…” but as Aziraphale spoke, he knew that it wasn’t true. He couldn’t have rebelled earlier. If he’d made his stand at the side of the humans any earlier than he had, then there would have been a different angel down here to start off the apocalypse. If he and Crowley had made their allegiance public, they wouldn’t have been able to work on their sides to prevent the big day, and though it had been convoluted, and strange, Aziraphale could, in that ineffable way of angels, see that there would have been no other path of choices in time that they could have come to this moment. 

“Oh, I suppose, but I’m still upset! There must be something we can do!” 

Crowley looked heartsick for a moment, before his brow furrowed. 

“Hold on, didn’t you say there was one last prophecy? What did it say again?” 

Aziraphale waved a hand. “Oh, something about choosing your faces, and playing with fire, I think?” Crowley strode over to where Aziraphale’s coat was laid over a chair, and started going through his pockets. “Excuse me!” 

“Oh please,” Crowley said, “What pocket was it in?” 

“Humph, the right breast pocket if you must know.” 

Crowley tugged out the little slip of burnt paper, and peered at it. Then a sudden energy came into the lines of his body, and he looked up at Aziraphale with a surprising intensity. 

“Angel, ‘choose your faces’. What do you suppose that means?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know, Crowley,” Aziraphale said testily. Crowley put the slip of paper between his lips, and tugged on his shirt. He popped out the collar, hair even more askew than it was. 

“What do you suppose they’ll do to you up there?” Crowley asked, striding by him, and grabbing new socks out of the wardrobe. 

“I don’t know, and I’d prefer not to think of it!” Aziraphale said, and Crowley turned to him, shaking the bundled up pair of socks at him. 

“Think on it, I’m getting something. Maybe, just maybe, a plan.” 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, a sudden shot of hope straightening his posture from the deplorable state it had been in. 

“Uh, well, perhaps a trial?” Aziraphale watched as Crowley tied his little scarf/tie thing on, grinning with no humour. 

“Oh yeah, Hell loves a good trial too. Plenty of entertainment for the masses.” 

Though, no, that wasn’t right. The more that Aziraphale thought on it, though, the more that a trial seemed wrong. They wouldn’t want this whole debacle public to any more angels than had already seen. 

“No, no, it will be private. They’ll want it done with as quickly as they can.” 

Crowley stopped still in the room, in the middle of attacking his hair with a brush. 

“So, execution then, for the both of us.” Aziraphale winced, but nodded. 

“Most likely, yes. I doubt our offenses are going to get a slap on the wrist from either of our bosses.” 

“How d’you suppose they’ll do it?” Crowley asked, curiously, and Aziraphale snapped. 

“Crowley, I don’t think you have the proper attitude here.” 

“Just- what will the angels do to you? It’ll be holy water for me. I’m sure of it.” 

Aziraphale blanched, and even more at the casual way that Crowley said it. 

“Well, then, hellfire… but.” He frowned, and came closer to Crowley to take the slip of paper from his hand. “Wait a moment. Choose our faces.” 

“That’s what I was thinking. The faces that can survive what the other can’t.” 

Aziraphale felt a rush of hope. “Oh, Crowley! You’re a genius! We’ll just-” 

“Sh sh, I don’t quite trust the walls, even with my wards.” Crowley pressed a finger to Aziraphale’s lips. 

“I did strengthen them last night,” Aziraphale sniffed, moving back. “Well, I do believe you have wonderful ideas. Shall we, one last kiss before it’s all over?” 

Crowley’s brows lifted, and delight spread across his face. He leaned in, and then paused. 

“Wait, angel… aren’t you going to get dressed?” 

Aziraphale looked down at himself, and then went quite hot in the face. “Oh my dear me!” he said, as he was standing there in his knickers, and the wrinkled white shirt from yesterday. “Oh, give me a moment!” 

Crowley burst out laughing, and even through his embarrassment, Aziraphale had to smile. It was good to hear, after all. 

After he was decent, and Crowley had shared a pack a crisps with him in lieu of breakfast, Aziraphale stepped up to where Crowley stood. 

“My dear, please be safe. I couldn’t bear to lose you,” he said simply, and Crowley’s face twitched, and then suddenly he was in a fierce hug. 

“Not again, angel. You’re coming back. If it’s _anything_ other than holy water, smite whoever you have to, just get out of there.” 

“Likewise, darling,” Aziraphale said, squeezing the demon back. After a long moment, Crowley pulled back. 

“Well, one for luck,” he said, and leaned forward. Aziraphale, of course, met him halfway. 

 

And as they kissed, a fair bit of magic happened, both of the emotional variety, and the kind that was only possible because they were occult/ethereal beings. It wouldn’t have been possible for any other pair of angel and demon, or demon and demon, or angel and angel. Crowley and Aziraphale knew each other, down to the molecules. The switch happened flawlessly, and well, you know the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I also didn't intend for this to get blatantly romantic, but they would have their way. In seriousness, it's actually really special to me that these two man-shaped beings, who only have a human sexuality when they make an effort, are so loved and popular and discussed. I'm an ace, genderqueer lesbian and it just really jives with me, and how I think of romance. I tried to show that here, and even though they kiss, know that I'm coming at it from that angle.
> 
> Any kudos, comments, or bookmarks would be wonderful! I'm new to this fandom and the works are quite inspiring. I'm glad I can participate and say hello!


End file.
